Make it to me
by Markath
Summary: John invites Harold to have a last drink together and finally close the gap of how much they know about each other. (Set just before the final episode of S5, "return 0".)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

Without _justayellowumbrella_ , I would still linger around.

It's difficult to write, but it starts getting better, when I realized there are not many stories of John&Harold left. This is my contribution.

And I am sure I am not the only one asking myself this:

 **Where did you all go, you famous writers?**

* * *

"Harold?"

John entered the subway office, looking for Harold. Although it was late Sunday evening, John wanted to ask him to have a drink together.

The answer came immediately. "Here, John."

Bear greeted him enthusiastically, and Shaw happened to be there, too, with the dog leash in her hands.

He turned to her. "Going out?"

She tilted her head. "Going for a run with Bear. Meeting Lionel afterwards."

A short smile. "You two wanna come along, later?"

John remained motionless.

"Maybe." He answered.

Truth was, _this_ evening, he wanted Harold all to himself. Not quite so sure whether to get him there where he wanted him to be. But this was his last chance, he feared, so no risk no fun?

He patted Bear's head, and watched Shaw and the dog leaving.

Harold had left the subway car.

"What are you doing here, John? You are in need of sleep for tomorrow."

John took his eyes off the leaving pair and mustered all his courage.

"Asking you out for a drink."

Harold frowned.

"I still have a lot work to do…"

It was a small smile that John allowed himself.

"Don't shut me out _tonight_."

Silence settled between them.

In all these years, John had only three times sounded _that_ serious. First, when he got shot by Snow in a parking garage. And second, when he had destroyed his phone, trapped under a bank and was taken by the FBI. And third, when he had told him on a bridge that he should stay alive because he was coming for him before Harold turned himself over into the hands of Greer.

Harold sighed and hesitated. He wanted to be left in peace, especially this evening. But he felt – or better, he knew – that it could be the last time they would be together.

"I know a place just around the corner. It's not far. You can return to work afterwards, _in case_ you'd like to."

John interrupted his thoughts.

"I need fifteen minutes." Was all Harold finally answered and returned into the subway car, back to the computer.

"I'll wait for you." John said, but nearly lost his smile with Finch's next words.

"No more than one drink, John. I need my concentration."

* * *

John led him to quite a nice bar just around the corner, seeing that Harold limped stronger than before. No doubt it was from sitting too long in front of a computer these recent days. (Including the ICE-9 virus.)

When they entered, Harold was surprised by the dark interior.

"You're sure we're alright here?"

"It's private and without cameras." John explained and made Harold follow to one booth in the corner. Surprisingly, the leather was soft and comfortable.

As John went to the bar for their order, Harold looked around and noticed suddenly the hungry glances towards John. To his astonishment, he only accounted men. It took a while, but then it clicked.

When John returned with the drinks – two whiskeys, a bottled beer and a bottled water – Harold asked bemusedly: "You brought me to a bar for men only?"

"You've been paying attention." John's mouth twitched.

"I saw the looks that followed you." Harold commented wryly.

"Relax, Finch. I'm here with you."

John didn't exactly know if he should to rejoice or to be blue about Harold's reaction. And it didn't make what he had planned easier. Maybe he should simply give up on his idea of...

"So what is it that you want to talk about with me?" Harold asked him.

Was it that obvious?

"Simply wanted to spend some time with you, Harold."

"I really have work to do, John."

A sigh.

"I know, Finch. But may I also add that this could be... our last evening."

Now he had Harold's full attention.

"You don't know what tomorrow will bring."

John smiled again, but this time in a very tired way.

"I do. And you do, too."

" _We_ cannot predict the future."

Another sigh from John.

"How many times didn't _we_ bite the dust?"

"You think _we_ are running out of luck."

"Finch. - Let's better talk about..."

John hesitated. Unusually for him.

"About what?" Harold, who had finally leaned back in the comfortable seat, helped. Still focused on John.

"I wanted to ask you something...or better...do something. - But quite frankly, I don't know how."

His look was surprisingly open, showing mixed emotions, while his hands were playing with the bottle of beer.

Harold who sensed a serious topic behind John's words, leaned forward and put his glass of water back on the table. He took the whiskey tumbler instead and raised it.

"Let us first drink to our friendship, John."

They clinked glasses.

"To friendship, Harold." John rasped.

* * *

This was a difficult thing to bring up, John felt it. But he had never been a coward, so he decided to take a risk. He inhaled deeply and put his hand with full intent over Finch's which was lying relaxed on the table. Watching Harold's reaction while he spoke.

"Harold, I wanted to..."

"John – don't give me another thank you for this job that I gave you, please. There's no need."

The hands were still brushing and made John's heart beat faster. Harold hadn't stiffened, so John smiled a bit.

"Harold you're sweet to say such a thing but I had not wanted to repeat my former words. _If_ you let me continue talking."

"Of course."

"Elizabeth Bridges. What did she really mean to you?"

"And you would like to know _why_?"

"Maybe I'm not able to ask any more questions after tomorrow."

Harold furrowed his brows to John's easily, almost laconically thrown remark, but seemed to overthink it, watching John's calm face thoroughly. He pulled himself together.

"When I met her in Hong Kong, we immediately had a connection and we shared a lot..."

Harold told John the event in his short and tight way.

"...but I think, in the end, meeting her again in New York, I simply wasn't her type."

John croaked a short laugh that he couldn't hold back and shook his head.

"Not her type? You underestimate your appeal, Harold. I think she threw you out because you were exactly her type. That she blamed you personally speaks volumes."

It was meant as a compliment, but Harold didn't take it as such.

"It wasn't my intention to hurt her, John, but simply to have a chance to catch up with Samaritan. And I would have never been caught if not..."

Harold paused.

"Maybe it's better this way, that she blames me and nothing else."

The hurt behind those words was not hidden before John.

"You were ready to die for her, I was told."

A quick look at him showed Harold's surprise.

"I see. Ms. Groves already entertained you with the whole story?"

John found himself guilty.

"I made her tell me, Harold. Didn't give up."

"You could have asked _me_ instead."

"I do now. - Besides, would you have told me if I had asked?"

He earned another quick look, searching for his intention, but John kept his face carefully neutral.

"I once told you I won't lie to you."

"You also told me that you're a really private person."

Harold only furrowed his brows again, pulled his hand back and took the whiskey tumbler.

John sighed, sensing _this_ would bring him nowhere.

"Tell me about Grace." Straight forward.

That made Harold stop in the middle of taking another sip of the whiskey which was not the best but not the worst either. He leaned back, keeping more distance between them.

"Why on earth do _you_ mention her, John? - You know...you know _all_ there's to know."

A visible sigh. "I hope that she is safe and sound wherever she is."

What Harold could _not_ tell John was that he had asked the Machine after her whereabouts not that long ago. He didn't know why, but it suddenly occurred to him that John could feel at disadvantage after all that Grace still lived when Jessica was dead.

"And that's all there is to say?"

"It is."

"You still love her, don't you?"

The look he got from Harold now was decisively inquisitive.

"What is this really _about_ , John?"

"Still trying to tackle that disparity between how much we know about each other."

John's mouth twitched.

Since he got no immediate reaction from Harold, he added softly: "To find out about you."

That was a blunt but honest answer.

"Me...?"'

Harold had suddenly wrinkles of concerns to his brow. And an innuendo in his voice John couldn't quite put his fingers on although he knew the voice by heart.

"...shouldn't be any of _your_ concerns, John."

"You may be, Harold."

John tossed himself into the deep end, figuratively and literally speaking.

"As I said before, I wanted to ask you something. - Will you spend tonight with me?"

John leaned forward with bright eyes, and Harold was not certain – for one moment only – what John _really_ meant.

Either it was the whiskey or Harold's frantic wish to clearly grasp John's intention. In all these years, he never had a problem with understanding John's subtle insinuations or hints. But this whole talk was clouded in mystery to him.

"Are you propositioning me?"

The question was posed before Harold could think about the change that might come along with it.

John's simple answer made him blink both in shock and awe.

"Yes."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

Again - without you, _justayellowumbrella_ , where would I be?

And a very special thank you to you, _**madaboutdanny** ,_ and to your comment - it meant the world to me! And I really hope you stick with me.

Also thank you, _Coljayjay,_ _M E Lover_ and _scully1138_. Your comments made me go on!

* * *

Harold stopped for the umpteenth time on the keyboard. What he had wanted to do...it wasn't lost, but it wasn't that important anymore. Only a bug to be fixed, but it had been a welcome excuse. For being here, in his sanctuary. And nowhere else.

"Will you spend tonight with me?"

He couldn't work. He really couldn't. John was the whole time on his mind. John...and his last look. So much silent sadness, he could have almost touched it, although John had tried to hide the feeling behind a mask. It was more than Harold could bear with.

"Finch I would never expect you to act against your will and your conviction because of me. I am truly sorry. I was misled to think your feelings were going… in the same direction."

What was John thinking?

He must have known...about the risk. About the blow their friendship would take. But how important it was must have steered him. John had calculated for a no as well, he knew him. He rushed sometimes head over toe into situations, but _not_ in this one.

So why did he suggest...such a thing? Harold tried to wrap his head around it but he did not really come to a satisfying conclusion. Nor to a solution to this whole mess. All he knew was John's almost tender approach to the situation. Inviting him to a bar. Making him a bit tipsy? Talking about feelings. And asking about Grace.

"Forgive me, Harold."

One night. Had he ever thought about John...as a lover? As someone this close to his heart? He wasn't from the beginning – but he had become someone almost as close as Grace to his heart. Someone who _knew_ more of his real life than anyone ever before. Nathan had known about the Machine, assumed about Grace, but not much more.

Harold tried to take it step by step. The women he knew from John's life, what would they tell about him?

Judging from the outside, John was handsome. A lot of looks followed him wherever he went. Not only by women, but by men also as he had learned tonight. How would he classify him...skilled? Yes. Zoe Morgan wouldn't turn to a less skilled man in bed, he was sure of. Judging from the inside, John was beautiful as well. Tender? Loving? Caring? That would appeal to Dr. Iris Campbell – and to Jessica as well, he suspected.

He simply couldn't bring his mind to stop thinking about John. It was like the zeros and ones that had always fascinated him. But tonight it was the human heart. John's heart, to be exactly. How could John have wanted _him_ for his bed companion? Harold was no one to deceive himself. He was not handsome and beautiful, not at all. It was still a mystery to him.

Harold shook his head. It simply could not be. He was not…interested in men. Neither was John. Not in that way, anyway. But his inner voice told him it wasn't about that. John and he shared something different. They had gone from mistrust and odd behavior to trust and deep friendship. Saving their lives so many times, mutually. Sticking together through good and bad.

"You were really thinking this proposition last night would make me slip under your sheets?"

Harold cringed at his answer given to John. More than surprised, he had been indignant how John could bring up such a subject. Looking back, he had sounded most deeply offended.

But he couldn't just stand around and do nothing, either. There was a force in him that drove him back to John. A need to talk this through, again. To understand.

Determined, Harold left the computer panel as it was and left the subway car, picking up his jacket along the way. He knew John resided in their safe house. And that's where he headed now.

"The answer is no, John."

John had flinched upon hearing Harold's words. What was he only thinking? But Harold had taken it all the wrong way. He would never seduce him if he didn't want to be seduced. He simply had tried to make Finch stay a night with him…open for all possibilities. Because to put it simply, John hadn't wanted to stay this last night alone, and he clearly thought it could be. It was okay with him. Without Harold — he wouldn't live anymore anyway.

But he couldn't hinder himself feeling the sadness that swept so fully over him. After all, he had hoped...that Harold would comprehend why of all people John wanted to be with him. To experience. To engage in a new situation _and_ to get involved.

"In the same direction? Are you aware what you are implying?"

How could John have told him he was open to all things? Even if they stayed completely dressed in a bed together? He had just wanted...to have Harold at his side, being close to him, for one night – or especially, for this night. He had not anticipated such...indignation. Upsetting reaction. Dismay, close to abhorrence.

John's defense had crumbled in view of Harold's obvious rejection. He stood up.

"I was hoping you would understand, Harold. Excuse me for making a pass at you."

John sighed and was fully aware to what extent this could go tomorrow. Had he lost Finch's friendship, too, after he had left for good?

* * *

When Harold arrived at the safe house, it was oddly quiet.

Harold hesitated upon entering the rooms, but John was nowhere to be found. Should he track him down? This wasn't how it was supposed to be...

There would be no way back from this. But Harold decided to stay put where he was.

When he came home, John knew at once that somebody had been in the house. Finch?

He found him in the kitchen, working on a computer.

"Harold. What are you doing here?"

Harold got up from his chair and looked down on his hands, embarrassed.

"I wanted to apologize, John. "

It took a moment before John was able to answer.

"I'm listening."

Harold nodded and clenched his hands around the table.

"After thinking quite a bit about it, I know now that my words were harsh and accusing and harmful. I was surprised about your personal questions and started to feel uncomfortable about the whole subject."

This pulled a reaction from John. He wanted to say something, but Harold raised his hands briefly.

"I'm not done, John. - In other words, I was never expecting…a proposition from _you_."

Harold paused for a moment.

"I was convinced…after all…that you preferred women. Like me. Your history shows nothing of the contrary."

John intervened gently.

"You know this is not the point here."

"I thought as much, but still…" Harold fiddled about his next words, "…still you have to explain to me… _what_ made you think of me as someone…you consider taking into your bed?"

With the last spoken words, Harold couldn't avoid some blushing.

There was a tender smile on John's face.

"You."

"Me?"

"You need a better description?"

"Seriously, John. - If you want me to stay, enlighten me."

Still, Harold could not look into John's eyes, although John's stayed the whole time on his face.

"Fair enough." John inhaled deeply and tried to find the right words.

"I wanted to spend some time with you. With you _alone_. Like…in the beginning _and_ closer…than ever before. I wanted to give us both a moment, not thinking of tomorrow. And the only way for distraction…would be you and me in bed together."

Here, John couldn't suppress another smile, but Harold didn't look up. At least, _he_ was listening. Hesitantly, John continued.

"The passionate way you handle your programming made me always wonder if you were the same way in bed. I wanted to find out about the really private person tonight. - Sorry for my outspoken thoughts."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**

This chapter took me longer than expected. - Sorry for the long wait!

Thank you, _justayellowumbrella_ , for never giving up on me. You are my sunshine!

* * *

Harold had tuned in on every word John had said.

Did he _ever_ hear of such a direct advance? The answer was no. Grace had always been patient and lovely, had made sweet and tender compliments, but mostly spoken in an indirect way.

Ms. Groves had complimented him about the Machine, but it was always directed towards the Machine, not especially towards _him_.

Beth had paid him personal compliments through their prep talk, but the words were shrouded carefully.

So he was still a bit lost when it came to John's proposition. But now, for the first time, he was surprised by himself that he _wanted_ to follow the calling, and suddenly reminded of the story he had once told Detective Carter upon endangering his best help ever, this time he was tossing _himself_ into the deep end of the pool.

"I don't know if it is so easy to pinpoint me." Harold answered, finally.

"Harold, things are very easy if you allow yourself for them to happen."

"I feel you have much more experience on _this_ than me."

"No. But I know what I want. And the answer is you."

"I still don't know, John. I'm treading unknown waters here which means I'll have to follow you. - So where do we start? Undressing? Going directly into bed?"

"You make it sound so mechanical. Where's your human sense of poetry and wonder?"

John just looked at him and made a step towards him, waiting. But Harold stood his ground, surprised that he _still_ remained before him.

"Close your eyes and relax. I won't do anything you don't want me to." John only said and waited.

Harold needed some seconds to process the situation, but finally, he closed his eyes. He felt insecure and was sweating a bit - not because he didn't trust John but because the whole moment led him into a new zone. Not knowing which kind of train would overrun him, no calculation quick at hand either for unknown variables or an open and possible outcome on his mind was something Harold was never confronted with.

"You're still tense."

John's calm voice interrupted his thoughts and relaxed him a bit. Harold sighed, but held his eyes closed as he took John's advice by heart.

He noticed John going around.

"Is this some kind of special treatment you're planning to do, John?"

There was a sudden spark of excitement in Harold when he heard John close to his ears from behind, coupled with a warm breath, tickling his jaw.

"What do you _want_ me to do, Harold?"

Before Harold had an answer ready, soft lips were nudging at his neck where his hairline started. Slowly, finding one of his most sensitive spots. Harold couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped him. He even swayed a bit at the sensational feelings that overcame him, almost losing his fragile balance.

He hadn't felt such _intimate_ tenderness in a long time, and found himself directly steadied by two strong arms which warmly embraced him, then.

A simple touch of lips on his skin swept him off his feet?

Still torn apart between staying and fleeing, he couldn't deny that John's first tender approach had caught him utterly unprepared.

After some seconds, when John's lips found Harold's earlobes, another shot of sparks went through his body, making him gasp. How did John know where to touch him? How?

He was confused, but John gave him no pause to think further, instead pressing himself carefully against Harold's back to let him feel the fast heartbeat and the intimate heat of his beautiful body, adapting himself perfectly to Harold's shape.

Hands, both tender and goal-oriented, diving underneath his jacket. Fingertips, wandering along his sides and up to the classic collar of his shirt. Sneaking between the buttons in his shirt to meet his thin, finest cotton undershirt that left nothing but the feel of almost real touches to his skin. Harold's senses wavered upon the sensational feelings that shot through him.

Usually, this would be the right moment to free himself. To tell John this was not his cup of tea and go straight back to his computer. But he couldn't. Still caught in the moment, Harold found himself unable to go. He had longed for intimacy so long, had missed it every minute, always dreamt of Grace and returning back to her and in her arms – and here was John, saving all his tenderness for him (and why only now? Why not earlier?) and let him feel all he had himself never ever felt privy to after losing Nathan and dedicating himself to the only purpose of saving other people's lives.

 _Yes_ , John had knocked him out in a way Harold had never suspected him to do so. He turned around, withstanding no longer his inner conflict and no longer able to suppress his desires. There was no restraint with John. Being close, he looked at him for a long time and John openly gazed back, knowing this to be a very fragile moment.

The eyes, didn't they say it all? Harold closed his eyes and decided to act. In an instant, he had taken John's face in his hands and was searching for John's lips to seal them with a kiss. A bit uncertain how to kiss a man, he first pressed his lips simply on John's lips. Surprising him a bit with his initiative, but gaining all with John kissing him back. And the way he was kissed back – as skilled as John was who softly coaxed him to open his lips and who made their tips of the tongues meet - it rendered him almost helpless.

It felt so good. Too good, to be true. The sudden proximity held so many promises Harold was so desperate for: closeness to someone who knew it all. Who understood it all, who even shared it all.

Could _he_ lose his control?

"Stay with me, Harold. Enjoy." John whispered in his ears then, breaking their passionate kiss. "It's just you and me right now."

Harold felt himself torn apart. One part of his brain told him to stop John from getting closer _now_. But the other part… _longed_ for John to do more…to continue worshipping him, adoring him, touching him. Let themselves escape in another dimension.

This was both madness and magic at the same time. How could John slip so easily past his defenses, made Harold feel so deeply and affectionately like only Grace had ever done before?

He trembled, finally overthrown by his own emotions. He hadn't anticipated such a passionate reply from John, showing him a glimpse of what could be…and whatever the future may bring, why hesitate to accept this generous offer for more to come…Harold started to lose a grip on his own control when he realized something else.

Was there John's hand…?

Harold's heart skipped a beat as he felt a warm touch on his groin, a thumb stroking both in a knowing and intimate gesture the complete part where his length was to be found which grew immediately into a full hard-on by the teasing touch - and there was nothing he could've done to prevent it.

Harold _was_ in flames. Because of John. There was no denial of it.


End file.
